


Smoke Signals

by SofterSoftest



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23894944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SofterSoftest/pseuds/SofterSoftest
Summary: Violet finds Olaf on the shore of a reservoir, burning the Baudelaire fortune.
Relationships: Violet Baudelaire/Count Olaf
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Smoke Signals

* * *

Violet stands on a pebbled shore before a vast and endless reservoir. 

Sunset skins the skyline raw, dark as bruises and red as a burn. A trickle of wind breathes across the water, fluttering her hair, her dress, yet not quite strong enough to fluster the trees at her back. Besides the rhythmic wash of water on the shore, there is peaceful, merciful silence. 

Everything has the too perfect, too beautiful quality of a dream, as if a place so serene could only exist within the privacy of her own mind. So serene, in fact, Violet wonders halfheartedly if she’s dreaming. Or dead. Neither of these alarm her as much as she thinks they should.

Closeby, the gritty roll and spark of a butane lighter scratches her ears. Straight ahead, an unmistakable silhouette stands at the water’s edge, a black outline against the rage of sunset. 

It has been far too long since Olaf was close enough to speak or hear or touch. She does not remember the amount of time they have spent apart (days, weeks, and years blur and congeal, sickly honey-memories deep as bone marrow.) Yet she recognizes Olaf with the intuition of someone very cherished. Recognizes the cant to his knees, the clip to his suit jacket, and the way he flicks the lid to his lighter shut.

Beside him there is a pile of money as large as the long-gone Baudelaire mansion, and it is on fire. The closer she gets, the easier Violet can see the flaky curl of one bill to the next, the binding band turning the flames green with ink and chemicals. Black smoke billows into the air and when her eyes track it upwards, she finds a pitch black night spitting stars. 

Barefoot and covered in brambles from her long journey, she treks across the beach to Olaf’s side. He stands facing the waves, dressed in a funeral suit. Each piece is black as the smoke at their backs, clean and immaculate, yet his hair is a mess of tangles and char.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he says in that rusty, predatory grunt he favors with her.

Behind them, the fire crackles and pops. It is the first time she remembers hearing it.

“I know,” Violet responds, voice so quiet it seems swallowed by the water, the fire, by everything else. She points upwards, knowing he will understand the trail of smoke hovering over the wild woodland she had emerged from. “I followed that.”

“I’ve been waiting,” he says, in place of approval or relief. 

“Why? To show me that?”

Together, they look to the mountains of cash spitting ashes, burning so hot she can hardly stand it. Violet imagines the money flaking away to reveal the Baudelaire mansion as it once was, perfect and whole, or her parents’ matching caskets damp with earth. Or even Olaf himself covered in cinders like a second skin.

“Yes,” Olaf says. “It’s for you. I’m burning it for you.”

_ Thank you, _ Violet wants to say but her jaw clenches and the gratitude does not come.

“I’m here now,” she forces instead. “What do you need?”

He never answers. 

They stand side by side on the beach watching Violet’s stolen fortune burn to the sand and it feels unspeakably intimate, like surrender or death or a scourged blank slate. A funeral pyre. A tragedy finally come to its gracious and indulgent end. 

“It’s for you,” Olaf says again.

Violet nods and takes his cold hand in hers as the smoke suffocates the stars.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I gave myself a (first) draft time of half an hour and this is what happened. Inspired by a misremembered lyric in Phoebe Bridgers’ song Smoke Signals.


End file.
